


A Preference for Blood

by Tirlaeyn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Will Graham, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cannibalism, Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-04-01 01:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13987968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirlaeyn/pseuds/Tirlaeyn
Summary: There's a good reason the Chesapeake Ripper hasn't killed in two years, and it isn't entirely that he got so close to being caught last time.When omega!Hannibal finds himself going into heat for the first time in two years, he deals with it the way he always has. But there is something different this time, and his name is Will Graham.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is written to be Sorbet-adjacent, so some of the names, such as Andrew Caldwell, and settings are taken from that episode. But it is very much an au rather than a strict rewrite.

Desire consumes him. On all fours in the dark, the omega waits aching with need. One by one, a long succession of alphas fuck him, stretching him over their knots and filling him with their seed. It isn't enough. The final alpha grabs a fistfull of hair and pulls the omega up flush against him. He tries to set his teeth for the bonding bite, but the omega is quicker. He twists and clamps down on the alpha’s neck, tearing through skin, muscle, and arteries. Blood, hot and thick on his tongue, coats his face and neck and chest. And he comes.

Hannibal Lecter wakes to a rock hard cock and sheets soaked with slick. For the first time in two years, he is going into heat. 

After stripping the soiled sheets from his bed, he steps into the shower and stands under the steaming spray. The dream lingers like the taste of blood in his mouth, and he vibrates with want. He plays it back in his mind, reliving every detail. Slowly, he runs his fingers through his chest hair and rolls a nipple between his fingers. But, this isn't about soft and sweet. He scratches his nails across the sensitive skin of his belly down to his hard and leaking cock. Wrapping a hand around himself, he whines as he thrusts into his too tight grip. He needs it rough, wants it to almost hurt as his body begs for what it really wants. Finally, he reaches behind himself with his free hand and pushes two fingers into his hole. Caught between sensations, he thrusts into his fist and presses back onto his fingers, as in his mind he is fucked into the mattress by a nameless faceless alpha. Just as he nears orgasm, the dream shifts. Now, the alpha has a familiar face, and when he tries to bond, Hannibal nearly lets him. He bites his tongue and lets the blood fill his mouth until he finally comes crying out a name that echoes off the tile.

Will. 

Will Graham is responsible for this heat. From the moment Hannibal first scented the alpha, he has wanted him. Every interaction since has only strengthened and deepened his desire. But Hannibal has only just begun to pull back the layers and peek into the cracks. What he sees inside is beautiful and promising, but any contact during this heat could prove disastrous. It's too soon, their connection too delicate, his subtle influence over Will’s mind too fragile. Will isn't ready to see him yet, and despite what his inner omega craves, Hannibal is willing to wait. 

After his shower and breakfast, Hannibal pulls out his appointment book and starts calling patients. 

He saves Will for last.

He calls Will's cell phone, but he only reaches his voicemail. At the mere sound of Will's voice in the recorded greeting, he’s once again leaking slick. He takes a breath and leaves a message telling Will he has a health issue and needs to cancel their next four appointments. He's shaking by the time he ends the call and doesn't even try to resist opening the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling out the shirt that he took from Will's house while dog-sitting. He breathes the alpha’s scent deep into his lungs and allows it to soothe his hollow ache. After a moment, he shoves the shirt back in the drawer and slams it shut. He doesn't need Will. There are other ways to feed this hunger.

He makes his way to the kitchen and pulls out his rolodex. There's a good reason the Chesapeake Ripper hasn't killed in two years, and it isn't entirely that he got so close to being caught last time. He kills to relieve his heats. It isn't the only time or the only reason, but the Ripper murders are special. He selects only the most obnoxious alphas to be Ripper victims. The assertion of dominance, the scent of fear, the taste of blood, and the preparation of the meat combine into an experience far more intense and satisfying than a substandard knotting. He licks his lips as he thumbs through the cards and pulls out the perfect one.

***  
The soprano sings her final notes, and Hannibal stands to give her the ovation she deserves. Tears shine in his eyes, evidence of pure emotion from the beauty of the art filling him for one perfect moment with bliss. It starts to splinter when he catches the cloying scent of inferior alpha closing in behind him. A hand on his arm squeezes possessively. 

“I couldn't help scenting your reaction to the performance,” the alpha’s voice is sticky and saccharine. 

Hannibal doesn't allow himself to tense at the rude mention of his scent or the unwanted touch, but wears his politest expression as he turns to greet the alpha.

“It is a beautiful piece,” Hannibal says. “One of my favorites.”

Hannibal attempts to reclaim his arm, but the alpha only pulls him in closer to speak low into his ear. Humid breath stings Hannibal's skin. 

“Omegas are so emotional. You need a strong alpha to calm you.”

This time when Hannibal smiles, it's all teeth. 

“Don't tempt me with such a flattering offer. We should exchange names first, don't you agree?”

“Forgive me. Andrew Caldwell, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hannibal Lecter, and the pleasure is all mine. However, I must admit I am frightful at remembering names. Would you by chance have a business card?”

Caldwell finally takes his hand back to reach into his pocket. He slips his card between the buttons of Hannibal's shirt, and winks.

“Call me soon.”  
***

Well past sunset, Andrew Caldwell drives down a lonely stretch of road between his office and his home. He pays no attention to the set of headlights following him. 

Hannibal hums as he drives, his mind full of blood and death, art and dinner. A half mile ahead of him, Caldwell's brake lights suddenly glow through the dark. His hazards are flashing by the time Hannibal pulls over. 

Once out of the car, Caldwell's scent burrows into Hannibal’s nose and runs down his throat. His inner omega wakes up and takes notice. This close to his heat, the desire to mate and breed is strong, but Hannibal is stronger.

It's clear Caldwell scents Hannibal too. His spine straightens and his shoulders shift back as his nostrils flare. A smile creeps across his face.

“A beautiful omega come to rescue me? And here I thought running out of gas was unlucky. Will you give me a ride?”

Caldwell walks forward, nearly salivating in the presence of an omega in heat. His every step full of alpha pride brings him closer to the intoxicating scent. But as his eyes lock onto Hannibal's, a deep part of his mind realizes something is wrong. A small voice inside begs for him to turn and run. But Caldwell isn't practiced at listening, not even to himself. 

They meet in the mingling of head and tail lights. Hannibal catches Caldwell by the throat, surprising him and pressing his black leather driving glove into Caldwell's trachea and arteries. With his other hand, he sticks him with a needle loaded with just enough drugs to knock him out temporarily. He listens to Caldwell’s heart begin to slow and feels his pulse weaken beneath his fingers. Once he's unconscious, Hannibal deposits him in his plastic-lined backseat. 

Caldwell wakes to find himself lying on a bed in a cheap motel room with his wrists tied above his head and his legs in shackles. He's gagged and naked, and what he sees when he turns his head is terrifying. It's the omega from the road, dressed neck to toe in plastic, holding a knife, and watching him with a curious and calculating expression. Caldwell screams and struggles, but the omega only shakes his head.

“Any noise you make will only sound like sex to our neighbors, Andrew. No one is coming to rescue you.”

Hannibal soaks up his fear and panic and watches as his eyes shift from his face to the knife and back. Scent of sweat and alpha fill the room making it hard to breathe. Slick dampens Hannibal's thighs. His body can't help but react, but it only heightens his desire to take the alpha apart.

With the first drag of the knife through flesh, the aria begins. The alpha’s muffled screams share notes with the music playing in Hannibal's mind. He starts with shallow cuts along the alpha’s arms, letting the music and the scent of blood wash over him. With grace and purpose, he pushes the knife deeper, this time slicing open his inner thighs, careful to avoid the femoral arteries. Blood blooms from the wounds, wrist to shoulder and groin to ankle, and soaks into the dirty, greying bed sheets. It fills the spaces between his limbs like an hourglass.

Caldwell curses and struggles, but the harder his pulls on his bonds, the more he bleeds. He weakens quickly even hyped as he is on adrenaline and alpha rage. Eyes full of hatred and anger find only fascination and amusement in the face of his murderer. 

Hannibal pauses to savor the scene and contemplate the next step of his design. 

“We met once at the opera. You were terribly rude. Do you remember?”

Caldwell nods his head as best he can and tries in vain to speak through the gag. He doesn't actually remember, but he hopes if he agrees, the omega will have mercy. 

“I don't believe you,” Hannibal says. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t make a difference.” 

Tears leak from Caldwell's eyes. His brain is a ball of terror and pain with no more room for anger or hope. He stares past the omega's bright eyes and placid expression, and for an instant, he sees again the depth of coiled darkness within. A scream, sharper and richer than any uttered by him before, forces itself out from the bottom of his soul. 

Hannibal simply covers the alpha's mouth with his hand, forcing the gag in deeper, and begins work on his torso. 

It's another half an hour of work, managing blood flow and shock symptoms to keep the alpha awake along the way, before Hannibal finishes his design. He snaps shut the lid of the cooler holding a freshly harvested liver and two kidneys, then lingers to watch the final light of life leave the alpha's eyes.

When he arrives home, it is blessedly cool and dark. He seals the organs in plastic and stores them in his pantry fridge without even turning on a light. Slowly, he makes his way upstairs, rubbed raw and exhausted, lacking the satisfaction that normally follows a successful hunt. As he curls up in bed, he aches for Will.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into Will's mind and a taste from Hannibal's kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending the biggest shout out to @crystalusagi for all her help and encouragement!!

In a cheap motel room smelling of blood and alpha pheromones that burn his nose, Will Graham stands staring at the mutilated corpse of Andrew Caldwell. He raises his eyes to meet the wall behind Jack Crawford's head. 

“You're sure it's the Ripper?” Will asks.

“You tell me. Work your magic, Will,” Jack replies. 

Jack raises his voice to be heard over the general murmur of the scene before Will can object to his use of the word magic. 

“Okay, everybody out! Clear out!”

In a moment, Will is alone in the room. He closes his eyes and lets the pendulum swing, blood retreats into Caldwell's body, limbs reattach themselves, and wounds close. Soon Caldwell is alive again and struggling against his bonds. 

Will feels the shape and weight of the knife in his hand. He looks down at Caldwell's pathetic attempts to struggle with amusement and fascination. 

_I have complete confidence in my skills and planning. I take my time and do not fear discovery. The process is just as important as the result. I will keep you awake as long as possible. I need you to be aware of what is happening to you._

_I open your arms and legs and admire the beauty of the blood on the sheets and the pain in your eyes. The scent of your fear is intoxicating._

_I open your torso. I peel away layers of skin and muscle to expose your abdominal cavity. Your organs glitter like jewels. Your cries are music. I take joy in your suffering. It strengthens me._

_I remove your liver and kidneys with surgical precision. They are my trophies. Your whole body belongs to me, but these are all I will keep. I sever your hands from your wrists, and position them to cradle your remaining organs. I carve around the scent glands in your neck and force them into your nasal cavity. I enjoy watching the life fade from your eyes._

“Keep your hands and your scent to yourself.” 

Will speaks aloud to the empty room. He’s shaking and breathing hard, recovering from slipping into the mind of the Ripper. As he breathes, a scent so faint as to be nearly imperceptible catches his attention. It's oddly familiar but impossible to place. Will mentally catalogues it along with the other evidence from the scene.

“Jack!”

Jack reenters the room along with lab techs and crime scene photographers. Their presence returns a grounding sense of reality to the room.

“What is your conclusion?” Jack asks.

“It's definitely the Ripper, but you're not going to like this next part.” 

Will meets Jack's eyes for only an instant, a smile stretching eerily across his features.

“The Ripper is an omega. A male omega. I'm almost positive.”

Jack shakes his head.

“Omegas don't kill people, Will. Most wouldn't so much as raise their voice to an alpha, and you think one of them did this?”

“The evidence is there. I'm just reading the scene. The hands and the scent glands. Caldwell touched and scented the wrong omega without his permission. The Ripper wants to declare himself better than his victims. He feeds on the power he wields over them. They are unworthy of their privilege and their organs.”

“Could it be a bonded alpha lashing out after their omega was mistreated?”

“No. This isn't a rage episode. It's purposeful. He wants to show off how patient he is. It's too personal for it to be done for someone else, even a mate. These alphas. They're no better than pigs in his opinion. They've have offended him. But this isn't revenge. He elevates them to art. He improves them and all of society along with them.”

“Why not a female omega, then?”

Will draws his brows together, considering.

“Just a feeling.”

*

Sanctuary. More than any other place, Hannibal feels safe in his kitchen. Every inch is clean. Each tool is properly placed. He can breathe here. 

It is midmorning the day after killing Caldwell, perhaps a better time for an egg dish, something from the brunch section of a modern cookbook, but time means less and less as his heat approaches. He knows exactly what he wants to eat. 

Hannibal pulls Caldwell's liver from the fridge along with a few simple ingredients from the pantry. Each step of prep work soothes like a ritual. Peel the garlic, season the flour, uncork the wine and pour a glass. He slices through the plastic pouch holding the liver, and the scent has him gripping the counter for balance. Deep within, his omega wants it just like this, bloody and raw. A vision attacks of Will standing over a broken body hand-feeding him strips of meat, of himself sucking the blood from Will’s fingers. 

Enough. 

He pulls the liver from its pouch, trims it, coats it in flour, and sets it in the pan before he can do anything foolish. 

The sizzle is music. His stomach rumbles. He flips the liver and gets the rest of the ingredients in order while he waits. Two more minutes and he pulls the liver to rest on a warmed dish. Garlic, sage leaves, and peppercorns and an extra dose of oil replace the liver in the pan. The scent is mouth-watering, but civilized. After a few minutes, he pulls the sage, and adds spinach, stirring it in and covering the pan to let it braise. He wipes down the cutting board and cleans the knives, but his mind drifts back to Will. 

Since Hannibal met Will Graham, he's never been far from his thoughts, but with his heat approaching, Will has become a presence in his mind. Every idle moment fills with Will’s scent, his face, his hands, but most of all the beautiful creature buried beneath the surface, the killer Will keeps chained that Hannibal longs to unleash. His alpha. 

Stop.

Hannibal lifts the lid off the pan and pours in dry white wine. Stirring to loosen the fond, he lets the wine reduce before returning the liver to the pan and replacing the lid. He sets himself a place at the table and pours another glass of wine. Finally, the dish is done. The first taste is delicious. He closes his eyes and savors it, and for a moment, he is at peace.

*

Will powers through his last two classes of the day. Jack cancelled his first class when the body was found. He would have cancelled the whole day, but Will insisted on teaching. 

His students are paying for an education, and he won't let the Ripper get to him. 

Every slide glows with violent color. The Ripper lives in this ultrachromatic world: red for blood, pinks and purples for organs, bright white for bone. Will can't let it go. Every time he closes his eyes, the Ripper is there. He speaks, and Will listens. 

Emotions run like electricity in his veins, crackling and sparking. He blots them out, gives his lectures in monotone and never meets his students’ eyes. But the Ripper is still there weighing on him heavier than Garret Jacob Hobbs ever did. 

The end of the day is a godsend. He breathes in deep, collecting, placing, and rejecting the scents of thirty different students in one breath. That spare scent from the scene though. That one still niggles. Could it be the Ripper? Why is it so familiar?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Recipe
> 
> Coat liver with flour  
> Heat oil in pan  
> Fry liver for a few mins each side  
> Remove to warmed plate and cover  
> Add more oil  
> Fry garlic, sage leaves, and peppercorns  
> Remove sage  
> Add fresh spinach leaves  
> Cover and let braise  
> Pour in dry white wine (Batard-Montrachet)  
> Reduce  
> Return liver to pan  
> Cover and allow flavors to marry


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal falls deeper into heat. Will gets closer to the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is so late and so short. Life has been happening so much the last couple months. I wanted to get *something* out for you. Next chapter will be the conclusion!

The alpha lies dead on the table. His ribcage gapes wide, heart torn out, abdomen spilling organs and intestines. Each of his joints is severed, every section of fingers and toes up through hips and shoulders, collarbones. The pieces form a jumbled mockery of the human form. 

Hannibal stands over the body, breathing hard, his heart racing as he collects the tattered remnants of his self-control. Blood runs in rivulets down his plastic sleeves and drips from the tip of his knife into the sticky puddle at his feet. He can taste it, not only because the scent of it is thick in the air, but because it is there, rich and coppery, on his tongue. He hadn't been able to resist the urge to drink it from the source. The crushed remnants of the alpha’s heart rest in the cooler, unsalvageable but full of dna and bite marks that can't be left at the scene. 

Many years have passed since he has taken a victim apart so thoroughly. Decades since he has tasted blood this fresh. He grows weaker as his need for Will grows stronger. He is losing himself.

*

“The removal of organs and abdominal mutilations means someone with anatomical or surgical knowhow. There is a distinctive brutality.”

Will's own lecture plays on loop in the back of his mind as he drives the empty miles between Wolf Trap and Baltimore. Thirty hours after the scene in the motel, the Ripper still haunts him. He hasn't slept in that amount of time and barely eaten. But it is Thursday evening, so he is driving toward Baltimore for his appointment with Dr. Lecter instead of sitting at home with his dogs and a glass of whiskey that's deeper than usual. 

He doesn't resent the drive. Begrudgingly, and only to himself, Will admits it helps to discuss the cases and his feelings about the cases with someone who seems to understand without judgement. Dr. Lecter is an omega, and omegas are good listeners. In fact, Will has always known his ‘gift' would be considered far less remarkable if he were an omega. But to be an alpha with empathy, he must be a fucking unicorn. 

Still, the connection between himself and Hannibal is much more than Will has ever had with an omega, or anyone, before. It is as comforting as it is disturbing. The closer Hannibal gets to uncovering the darkness Will tries to hide, the more Will craves to be seen and the stronger the forts he tries to build. There is a darkness in Hannibal too. Will has seen peeks and flashes of it at odd moments. He does not admit, even to himself, how beautiful and seductive that darkness is. 

*

Back in his kitchen, Hannibal pulls the alpha's heart from the cooler and sets it on a cutting board. The bruised and broken muscle sits in mocking contrast to its meticulously clean surroundings. A voice whispers inside Hannibal’s heat-addled brain. 

_This is weakness. You've worked too hard to build this life. This pretty alpha, this petty crush, is getting the best of you. You know what you have to do._

Hannibal crushes the heart in his fist. Blood and flesh ooze between his fingers and drip onto the counter. He stares at them for a long time.

* 

Will walks from his car to Hannibal's office with the city noise surrounding him and the noise in his head louder still. Every sound presses on him as he anticipates the quiet peace on the other side of the door. These conversations with Hannibal are feeling more and more like sanctuary. 

The door is locked. Will tries it twice more, but it doesn't open. He checks his phone. The time and day are both correct. For a moment, he stands on the porch, considering. He could get back in his car, drive back to Wolf Trap, and revisit the whiskey idea, but it feels wrong somehow. This feels wrong. Hannibal has never not been here, and suddenly Will gets the cold feeling that Hannibal might be in trouble. He circles the building. There's no sign of forced entry or a struggle. 

Still. 

Will slides into the driver's seat and heads toward Hannibal’s house. Something within him senses danger, and he can't ignore it any more than he can ignore the memory of that scent from the crime scene, the one that feels so oddly familiar. 

*

Hannibal sits at the harpsichord, giving his needs and feelings an outlet through the music. It's an original composition, one he has been working on for a few weeks now. It begins cautiously, builds toward enthusiasm and wonder, speaks of fascination and desire, rejoices in a vibrant darkness, but now it is falling too soon into requiem. He hears the music in his mind, but his fingers struggle with the keys. The melody rises and falls, at war with itself. 

In the midst of this, a knock at the door. Hannibal knows, without checking, the time and date and who is knocking. He takes a moment to assess the state of himself, pulls a small comb from a pocket to fix his hair, smooths the wrinkles from his dress shirt, buttons it to the top, and rolls down his sleeves and secures the cuffs. Satisfied, he walks with measured steps toward the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr @diea-kierlyn or on twitter @tirlaeyn!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension, of the sexual and murdery varieties.

Hannibal stands just inside the door, knowing who is on the other side, listening to the small noises of Will, his shifts and movements while he waits, paces, considers knocking again. Hannibal lets him wait. Lets him get ruffled, frustrated, off balance. Then Hannibal opens the door at the exact moment Will decides to knock again, leaving him standing with his fist in the air. 

“Hello, Will.” 

But the words come out with less grace than expected, for Will radiates with his need to protect and defend. 

_Alpha._

Hannibal freezes just for a moment then files it away for future enjoyment.

“Dr. Lecter, you're-” Will’s nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. “You're in heat.” 

Will takes half of an unconscious step but stops himself and sets his foot down firmly outside. He eyes Hannibal like a starving man might stare at a poisoned steak. 

“It's only pre-heat. I have another day or two until I am overcome.”

Hannibal nearly reaches out to pull Will inside. The urge to touch is so strong. Will licks his lips, eyes on Hannibal’s mouth, then shakes his head as if to rouse himself.

“I should go. I shouldn't be here, but you weren't at your office-”

“I called and cancelled our appointment. You seem not to have gotten the message.”

“My phone loses voicemails all the time...I should go,” Will repeats, unmoving.

Will’s eyes wander lower. Hannibal feels his gaze like fingers, delicious touch on starving skin, and another measure of self-control melts away.

“But you are here now, and I am loathe to send you away if you feel the need to talk. I'm sure we can be mature about this.”

Will meets Hannibal’s eyes for a split second with a smirk on his lips.

“Ignore our baser urges and converse like adults?”

Hannibal watches the decision happen. Tension leaves Will's shoulders and jaw muscles, but he straightens his spine as his eyes darken. 

“Yes.”

Hannibal leads Will to a pair of chairs in front of a cold fireplace which he immediately busies himself with lighting. 

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Hannibal asks.

“Lowering inhibitions sounds like a bad idea at this juncture, doesn't it Doctor?”

“One glass will do little more than help you to relax and lubricate the conversation.” 

Hannibal pours two glasses and hands one to Will. Their eyes meet for half a second as their fingers brush, and flames lick the inside of Hannibal's belly. But he sits with legs crossed and hands folded on knee, the perfect picture of relaxed attention. 

“I see the Ripper is killing again. I assume Jack has you on the case.” Hannibal says this casually, as if pulling a topic from the air. 

“One so far that we're sure of. There will be two more within the week. Jack is determined to catch him this time.”

“Jack is determined to have you catch him. What did his latest scene say to you?”

“I have a theory.” Will says, taking a sip of wine. “Jack doesn't believe it.”

“So often he asks your opinion then rejects it when it doesn't match his own.”

“You know Jack, another hard-headed alpha in a position of power. But I am right about this whether he likes it or not.”

“And what is your theory?”

“The Ripper is an omega.”

Hannibal blinks and then smiles, a mere twitch of lips, which Will, now up and pacing before the fire, fails to notice. Neither does Will notice the sweat beading on Hannibal's forehead or the whitening of his knuckles, and if he catches the scent of Hannibal's arousal, he doesn't give indication. 

“The Ripper killed that alpha to humiliate him,” Will continues, “to reduce him to simply a collection of parts, because that's how he saw omegas. He treated the Ripper poorly, objectified him, scented and touched him without permission.”

“He was ugly and discourteous.” Hannibal says with the slightest roughness in his voice.

“And the Ripper turned him into art.”

Every word that drops from Will's lips goes straight to Hannibal's pride and chips at his self control. He licks his lips and rises, finally unable to resist closing the space between them. He stands mere inches behind the alpha and now surely they can smell each other. So few secrets between them now, but what is still secret needs to be kept. And yet, Hannibal cannot resist.

“How do you see the Ripper, Will?” 

“He has a deeply seated need to be seen and admired for who he is and what he does. He spends his days behind a mask just waiting for someone to reach out and pull it off.”

Will turns until they are face to face and still only inches apart. His hand strays to the holster of his gun. 

“At the hotel, I caught a scent, an omega and strangely familiar though I couldn't place it at the time. At your office, I smelled it again. I worried the Ripper was a patient of yours and had attacked you. But the explanation is far simpler than that, isn't it, Doctor Lecter?”

Defiance burns in Will’s eyes. Hannibal’s skin tingles, and his pulse pounds in his ears. He could simply deny it and use his resources to frame Will for his crimes. He could cut Will open with the knife in his pocket, leaving him to bleed to death while he escapes. He could fall to his knees and submit to his alpha who sees him so clearly, and oh how he wants to give in. But he stands his ground and holds Will's gaze, not yet willing to choose.

“Will you tell Jack?” Hannibal asks, his voice hoarse.

“You aren't denying it.” Will sounds almost disappointed.

Hannibal takes a cautious step forward, licking his lips and hardly breathing.

“Would it do me any good?” 

Will's fingers curl under the snap of his gun holster, almost but not quite pulling it open. His eyes flick down to Hannibal's mouth

“It might.” Will says.

“I don't want to lie to you, Will.”

Will swallows as sweat beads on his hairline. His eyes are nearly dark as midnight, pupils blown wide. He steps into Hannibal's space and speaks into his ear.

“Could you even if you wanted to?”

“Alpha-”

A shrill chirping cuts through the air. Will jolts back and shoves a hand in his pocket for his cell phone.

“Jack, what is it?” Will grinds out.

“The Ripper killed again. I'm sending directions. Get here. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to apologize for the lack of sex in this chapter, but I'm not sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on twitter @tirlaeyn or on tumblr @diea-kierlyn


End file.
